


vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore

by blood_and_gore



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, Resurrection, Temporary Character Death, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blood_and_gore/pseuds/blood_and_gore
Summary: For a second time, Mollymauk awakens in a grave.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Vissi d'arte, Vissi d'amore" from the opera Tosca. I have no idea where i'm going with this fic. Updates will be sporadic.

For a second time, Mollymauk awakens in a grave.

There's dirt in his mouth and maybe his lungs; he tries to turn, to flail, creating space. It's like swimming, and he breaks the surface of the earth with enough resistance to hurt. The air's cold and brisk, smelling of rain- early spring? He doesn't know. All he knows is that there was a glaive in his chest where there now seems to be another scar.

He surveys the space around him. His coat- his beautiful tapestry in the guise of a garment that he'd loved, carried like a home- rests faded and waterlogged on a stick. There's a piece of paper with words long since faded; he can barely make out Jester's name.

He nearly huffs out a laugh, but his voice hurts from disuse.

He walks on.

.

There are memories in his head that aren't quite his. A voice, urging survival above all. (Not that that means anything, without his blades and without his friends. There are four gold coins in the back pocket of his pants. His tarot cards, his bag, everything is gone.) The voice is cruel, saying things like _they abandoned you here_ and _they've forgotten you by now_. He supposes those things could be true. He supposes that the voice is the former inhabitant of this body; when he mentally articulates the words _Lucien, shut up_ the voice does so for a good fifteen minutes. That's good enough for him.

.

When he reaches the nearest town, and an attempt at memory _(the dwarven woman, the slavers, dying)_ it takes him a moment to decide what to do, where to go. He's not hungry, though perhaps he should be- wasn't it winter when he died? How long has it been since he had a meal, a drink?

But if there's anything Molly's good at, it's conning people into feeding him. He enters the tavern.


End file.
